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to ride with him in the park, for he’d made it plain enough that he had more on his mind than a mere sedate tour. And the invitation had seemed more of an afterthought, for he was leaving while she was being escorted onto the dance floor by Sir John.

      “Northington,” Harvey had said, halting him, “you’ve met Miss St. Clair, have you not?”

      “I have.” Blue eyes had skimmed her briefly with an air of polite boredom, as if he had not been so bold as to kiss her on the terrace.

      “Miss St. Clair has informed me that she’s not yet been for a turn in Hyde Park,” Harvey had continued with a smile that could only be described as wicked. “And, as my carriage is unfortunately in disrepair at the moment, I assured her you would be so kind as to escort her one day.”

      “I hardly think Miss St. Clair will lack for offers,” Northington drawled, but his eyes rested on her face with a glint of amusement, as if he suspected she had engineered the invitation.

      Trapped, Celia could only return his stare with a cool gaze of her own. “Indeed, my lord, your confidence is uplifting.”

      “My tours of Hyde Park are always very extensive,” he had said then, “but should Miss St. Clair wish, I would be more than happy to escort her.”

      If not for Harvey’s interference, she suspected Lord Northington would not have suggested it at all. Indeed, a faintly sardonic smile had accompanied that overly polite invitation, so that she’d almost refused.

      He expects me to refuse, she’d realized, and to be perverse, had said sweetly that she would be honored.

      What have I done? she thought now, despairingly. Oh, why did I have to be so perverse?

      “But you must be cautious,” Jacqueline was saying, her mood buoyed now, “and not be too much of a challenge. You do not wish to truly offend him. There is a fine line you must walk if you wish to succeed. Remember, my sweet, Northington is quite accustomed to having his own way. Ah, but he is so handsome, yes, and despite his reputation he is quite a catch. One day he will be earl of Moreland. How lovely it would be if you were to marry him. Lady Moreland is one of my dearest friends. I have known her for years.”

      “You never told me that,” Celia said quietly, and placed her hairbrush on the dresser. “I had no idea.”

      “Yes, it was Margaret who introduced me to my husband so long ago. I was only a penniless emigré then, so young and afraid. Your dear mama and I barely escaped with our lives, you know, and we had so little money. We came to London to stay with friends who had fled France before that terrible time.”

      She never referred to it as the Revolution, but as that “terrible time” or “the Terror.” Now she looked up at Celia, eyes wide with memories.

      “Some were fortunate and clever enough to escape with some of their wealth. So many did not, so many died…but Léonie and I, we were young, and pretty if penniless, so were offered refuge. Lady Moreland—she was Lady Northington then—was my patroness. I shall never be able to repay her for all her kindnesses to me.”

      Celia was silent. God, perhaps…should she tell Jacqueline how Léonie had really died? Should she tell her that the husband of her dearest friend was responsible for her death? Oh God.

      Jacqueline came to her, put a hand on her shoulder. “Do not look so sad, my dear. It is behind us now. And I am quite content with my Jules, and your mama was so very happy with her handsome American. Shall I tell you again how they met? And how he was so enchanted with her, he took her from the arms of a baron and swept her away out onto the terrace where they danced alone? It was so romantic despite the scandal, and even though I thought Léonie could have married any man in London, she fell in love with her sea captain.”

      “Yes. They were very much in love.”

      Leaning close, her cousin whispered, “There are so many in this world who never know that kind of love, my child. Do not grieve so very much for them. They were more fortunate than most.”

      “Yes.” Celia swallowed the surge of emotion in her throat, the impulse to confess all. “Yes, they were very fortunate.”

      “And if the good God wills it, so will you be. Ah, you are so very like your mother, you know. There are times I look at you and it is like seeing Léonie again, when she was very young and we had first come to England.” Reaching out, Jacqueline lifted a skein of Celia’s hair, let it slide through her fingers, a silky tumble. “Do not cut your hair. It may be the style now, but this suits you. So soft, and such a lovely shade of dark gold—”

      “No. No, I won’t.” Celia rose from the small stool set before the dresser, suddenly restless, unable to bear another moment of guilt. How could she even contemplate an act that may very well disgrace Jacqueline? The stain of her sin would spread, like ink on a clean blotter, ruining all it touched. She felt sick.

      “Oh, when Northington waltzed you out onto the terrace I thought I would faint, too,” Jacqueline was saying with a smile. “But now—now perhaps it is as it was with your dear mama and papa, eh? Could it be that he has formed an attachment for you already? And, perhaps, you for him?”

      “No.” The denial was jerked from her, an instant reaction, and she put a hand over her mouth to halt more betraying words.

      “Are you unwell?” Jacqueline frowned at her, then gave a nod of her head. “Ah, it is the excitement of the evening. It’s too much for you. I should have thought of that. Well, my dear, you are a success. Lady Jersey and Lady Cowper thought you enchanting, and Lord Northington singled you out for a dance. Sleep well, knowing that the world is before you. You can do anything with it you wish.”

      Celia swallowed hard. The enormity of her betrayal loomed before her eyes, Jacqueline’s kindness and love like a raw wound that wouldn’t heal. How could she keep it to herself, not confide in this woman who was so good to her? Oh God, it was so confusing, so…perilous.

      She leaned forward, wanting to say so much yet not quite daring to say too much, the words coming out shaky and not sounding like herself.

      “It is not always so easy to do. There are times—There are things that make people do what they wouldn’t ordinarily do, you know. I may fail you.”

      “My child, failure is impossible. Whatever you choose to do, it will be right.” Jacqueline smiled. “I have faith in you.”

      “Don’t—oh, don’t have faith in me!” Celia blurted, then stopped when her cousin just stared at her. Shaking her head, Celia managed a light laugh. “I’m afraid the champagne punch went to my head. You’re right, of course. I shall do what I must.”

      “And now you must rest. It has been a long evening, and soon the sun will be up. I shall instruct Lily not to wake you. Rest, my dearest. You and Carolyn were the toast of the ton this evening. I am so fortunate to have two such lovely young ladies in my household!”

      Once in bed, with only the glow from the coals in the grate to light the room, Celia was consumed by anguish. Hot tears wet her cheeks, grief for her parents and guilt for the treachery with which she returned her cousin’s affection. If only she dared confide in her, tell her what had happened so long ago. But she did not dare. And to learn that Jacqueline’s dearest friend was Lady Moreland—no, she would never understand or approve.

      And I could not expect her to, Celia thought sadly. It was so unexpected that she would feel such affection for Jacqueline. It overshadowed everything.

      Yet I cannot let it deter me from exacting justice on Moreland! she thought fiercely. Nor will I trust his son. Despite his invitation for an innocent ride in the park, Lord Northington was dangerous.

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